


A feather in your wing

by 630Kame (Kame630)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel Wings, Canon Relationships, Demon Wings, Friendship, Friendship/Love, However you want to see them - Freeform, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 18:48:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20179000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kame630/pseuds/630Kame
Summary: Aziraphale hadn't seen the Demon's wings for a long time, so he takes some time to admire them. However, a little talk with Crowley reveals something he hadn't known about them. Something that's slowly been happening since the arrangement.





	A feather in your wing

A lot of things had changed since the notpocolypse. For one, there was not as many random inconveniences turning people to violence. They still happened of course, but it was less influenced by a certain Demon who was fully taking advantage of not having to answer to anyone anymore.

The Demon in question, of course, is Crowley. Previously the genius behind the M25 and deliverer of the antichrist, who was now taking a much deserved nap in his spacious apartment. Demons, like all ethereal and occult forces, don't need to sleep of course. But this one did anyway. Crowley used the excuse that sloth was a deadly sin, and very Demon like, but in reality, he just enjoyed it.

The Angel approaching his door right now, is Aziraphale. Once the Angel of the eastern gate, who now had all the free time in the world to perform his little miracles and resist selling anything in his Soho bookshop.

One of the biggest perks of not having to answer to heaven or hell anymore, was that they didn't have to hide or feel bad about their friendship. For example, when they met before, it was either in public or in A.Z Fell and Co's bookshop. This is because Demons liked to drop in on Crowley at anytime, through any technology available. They particularly favoured the tv, which was a problem because they would physically see into his apartment. Explaining to your superiors why you had an Angel, a supposed mortal enemy, sat sharing lunch and a few bottles of wine wouldn't have gone down too well in hell.

So now, Aziraphale walked the not too familiar territory up to the Demons apartment, taking advantage of the new found freedom. He had briefly been in the apartment once, in the Demon's own body, on the evening before they were taken to answer for their crimes. For obvious reasons, his mind had been preoccupied.

It was late afternoon, and he had a small basket with him that contained a couple of bottles of wine, some snacks, and a pack of cards. A nice little relaxed plan for a day in the park he had thought. But after Crowley was more than ten minutes later than they had arranged to meet, the Angel had decided to just go to his apartment instead of phoning him to ask where he was. He was actually happy to be able to do this now, without worrying about if they get caught.

He wasn't too surprised that the door was locked, or that there was no answer. A simple miracle opened the door and locked it again behind him as he made his way into the flat. He didn't feel like he needed to announce his presence, Crowley never did when he came into the bookshop after all.

The two couldn't have much more opposite tastes. The Demons apartment was spacious, open plan and modern, without much clutter except the few side tables dotted around, that were all covered in music and empty bottles. Lord knows how long they had been there. It was so different to the light and cluttered decor of his bookshop, with the pretty much untouched apartment above.

He took his time exploring Crowley's apartment. Last time he was here in the Demon's own body, he was more focused on practicing the Demons mannerisms and trying not to think about what was going to happen once he was dragged off to heaven or hell, however they chose to try to destroy the Demon. Now his mind was clearer, and he felt far more comfortable now he didn't have the heavy weight of heaven on his mind.

The apartment was very reflective of Crowley's personality. The dark colours, sharp lines, very modern and very stylish like the Demons himself. He knew that Crowley liked plants from their talks, and his chastising the Angel while he was disguised at the gardener for miricaling them to grow instead of putting in the work. So he wasn't too surprised at the little indoor nursery that connected to what seemed to be his office. He couldn't help the little laugh that escaped him at just how regal his office chair was, it looked more like a throne, which again, spoke volumes about the homeowner.

But there were a few things that really stood out to him, because he didn't expect to see them here of all places. Things that seemed pride of place, mounted on the walls or displayed proudly in the open plan hallways and living areas. Little memorabilia of things, things that any good museum would probably pay an extortionate amount of money for, had they known they existed. Things like an authentic French beret form the revolution, signed paintings by most of the world's most famous artists, little mementos and souvenirs from times he wanted to remember.

Of all these things there was one that really stood out to the Angel. It was hard to miss due to the size, though in such an open room it didn't seem too big for the space. It was a dark statue, singed and burnt, of an eagle pedestal with its wings spread wide. The exact same as the one that had once stood inside a church during the blitz, before a rouge German bomber 'accidentally' flew in the wrong direction. Aziraphale smiled fondly at the memory. Crowley really was sentimental, not that the Demon would ever admit it.

Failing to find his friend in the living room or kitchen, Aziraphale came to the correct conclusion that the Demon had forgotten about their meeting and decided to sleep in instead. He left the basket on the kitchen island to make his way to where he believed his friends bedroom to be.

There was nothing un-ordinary about Crowley's bedroom, in fact there wasn't much at all in the big open space. There was no wardrobe or chest of drawers, since the Demon preferred to simply manifest his clothes into being, unlike Aziraphale who bought his clothes and tried to keep them in perfect condition, even through centuries of wear and tear. A door led off the side, presumably to a bathroom, though the Angel doubted he used it, he certainly didn't use his own very much. The bedside tables were low to the ground, next to a big king-sized bed, right in the centre of the room, where Crowley was sleeping.

The one thing that did strike Aziraphale as odd, was that Crowley was sleeping on his stomach, arms folded under the pillow. Which you are right in thinking is a perfectly normal way to sleep. However, Aziraphale was caught by surprise, by the fact that over the silk covers covering his friend, we're his long ebony wings. They were usually hidden away for the sake of appearing more human, but now lay neatly tucked up against his back.   


It was strange to see. Crowley went to great lengths to appear menacing and elegant. But here he was, sleeping with such a peaceful look on his face, completely relaxed in his most comfortable form. Aziraphale couldn't even remember when he last let himself be that relaxed, and he smiled that theDemon felt safe enough to do so in his own home.

Aziraphale wasn't sure why or when he approached the bed, possibly to get a better look at the Demon's face, so soft and peaceful instead of his usual cocky mask and glasses. It really was a refreshing sight after the stress of the apocalypse. If Aziraphale was honest, he wouldn't have been completely surprised if Crowley had been sleeping for most of the last week. He let his eyes move from his face to the Demons wings.   


He'd only seen them a handful of times since the garden, but now he had a chance to study them up close. They looked very similar to his, only slightly different somehow. They seemed to curve a little more inwards, though it was hard to tell with them tucked up as they were against his back. There was something off about the texture aswell. The smooth surface he expected from the dark feathers seemed to get rougher from the tops of the primary and secondary feathers downwards. The wings were impeccably groomed, vanity was close to pride after all, but they seemed, less refined somehow the closer they got to the tips.

Almost without thinking, because the Angel certainly wouldn't do this without permission if he'd been thinking clearly, he reached out to lightly brush his fingers down the centre of one of the demons wings. Almost immediately Crowley shifted in his sleep, and the wings fluttered slightly before they fell in a more relaxed position, covering most of his body and draping off to his side.

The Angel drew his hand back, bringing his eyes back up to the Demon's face, still peaceful, still asleep. Aziraphale was very curious for an Angel, some might say too curious. So for him, the new mystery of why the demonic wings had such a different texture to his own, was too much for him to hold back for the sake of propriety. He was careful, his touch light as, well as light as the feathers he was touching.   


Everything felt normal at first, the covet feather were soft and smooth, leading his fingertips downwards towards the first of the primary and secondary feathers. And that's when he realised that they didn't just have a texture to them, they felt brittle and thin like they had been burnt, but the feathers themselves remained perfectly intact.   


When he pulled his hand back, he expected to find soot on his fingers, but they were just as clean as before. He felt one of the bottom feathers, despite the texture feeling flimsy and weak, it seemed strong integrity wise. He found himself petting a thumb along the strange texture, trying to work out why it was like that.

The Demon gave a soft hum against his pillow, but the wings made no movements like they had before. "What're you doing angel." Crowley's voice was quiet and sleepy, muffled slightly by his pillow. For a moment Aziraphale thought the Demon was talking in his sleep, until he saw a slither of a serpentine eye peeking open to look at him, seeming in no rush to fully wake up just yet.

Aziraphale's face went red, not sure how to explain himself. "I,uh didn't mean to wake you." He said, feeling foolish because that didn't answer the question. He was rather embarrassed to be caught petting his best friend's wings while he slept, but he couldn't exactly deny it. "I, um. Wasn't expecting to see your wings." He added lamely, sighing in defeat, he couldn't explain his reasoning.

"You keep doing that, and I'll fall asleep again." Crowley mumbled, shifting to make himself more comfortable, apparently having no intention of fully waking up anytime soon. He could feel the Angels hand still nestled in his wings and petting the feathers.

"Oh!" Aziraphale pulled his hand back quickly. He hadn't even realised he was still doing that, still flustered over the whole thing. "Sorry. They're just… very different to mine." The texture mostly, but also the way the feathers curved slightly inward and down.

"Not really." Crowley's wings fanned out behind him as he stretched, before coming back to relax against the bed, more splayed out then before, and slightly draped over Aziraphale's lap since he was sitting so close. Crowley stifled a yawn, opening both eyes now, to look straight at the Angel. "I didn't say you had to stop."

Aziraphale was surprised, but not disappointed, there was something oddly calming about their wings, both touching them and having them touched, so he wasn't too surprised that the Demon wasn't against it. Even if it was still embarrassing to be caught doing it while Crowley was still asleep. He brought his hand down to smooth out some of the feathers that had been displaced by the stretching, before he froze.

"Crowley…. You have a white feather." Running a finger along it, he noticed that it was almost perfectly smooth, a very slight texture to it, but nothing like the rest of his feathers.

Crowley didn't seem that bothered, just hummed out an affirmative noise. "Last I checked I had around twelve." Though he'd suspected that there would be less by now.

The Angel didn't understand, carefully moving his hand to find that there were indeed a lot more than he'd first realised, only the one was white, the rest were a mixture of different shades of grey. "Why?"

"Happens, They change back eventually. Demon performing miracles, probably." Crowley was slowly waking up, but too relaxed to actually move from the comfortable bed. One of the advantages of having long hair, was it was relaxing to have people play with it, and run their fingers through it, it was a very similar feeling when people touched his wings. "You probably have black ones."

"I do  _ not… _ I don't think I do anyway." Aziraphale frowned, he hadn't exactly seen or studied his wings very closely for millennia, living on earth there was very little cause to manifest them, so he didn't bother. And preening was more of a Demon thing. He suspected it had something to do with vanity.

"I could check for you if you like?" Crowley offered, rolling over slightly to look up at him properly. They were friends, and it was easier for someone else to help with these kinds of things. He was curious now, he'd just assumed it was the same for the Angel. A little visual corruption from working for their opposite sides. Demons weren't built for blessings, and Angels weren't meant for temptations. There was bound to be something that rubbed off on them. "When was the last time you checked them?"

Aziraphale paused, trying to remember, he couldn't even remember the last time he manifested them if he was being honest. "A few thousand years ago, most likely. Doesn't seem much point in manifesting them, when we're on earth."

Crowley rolled his eyes, sitting up and pulling back the sheets. They miracled some dark pyjama bottoms on for Aziraphale's sake, figuring that being in just tight silk boxer shorts might not be appropriate. They had seen each other naked before, of course, it was hard to avoid, but that was back in the days of public bathhouses, back when nudity wasn't seen as much of a taboo. "Okay, let's see the damage."

Aziraphale sighed, removing his coat. He wore too many layers for Crowley's liking, and the Angel insisted on removing them by hand, and carefully folding each article before moving onto the next. He didn't need to strip off, the wings would manifest regardless of clothing, but Aziraphale had too much pride in his outfits to do that, and it was more comfortable to manifest them when you were at least shirtless.   


Finally Aziraphale stood from where he was sitting on the bed, rolled his bare shoulders backwards, and manifested his wings. They appeared in a shimmer of holy light, making Crowley look away until they fade and solidify, back into their natural, physical form, as a part of the Angel himself. They flare out behind him, before curling back in to sit comfortably behind him.

Aziraphale let out a long relaxed sigh, stretching and rolling his shoulders, shaking out his wings, a few loose bright white feathers falling gracefully to the ground. He looked like a man who's just removed a very heavy coat after a long hard day, finally comfortable in his more natural shape. He didn't realise how much more comfortable it felt to liberate his wings, to not have to hide away something that was such a part of who he was. No wonder Crowley preferred to sleep like this. It had been too long since he let his corporal form not be completely human.

Crowley watched Aziraphale completely relax, in a way he very rarely does, before tutting at him. "You really need to preen your wings more often." Compared to Crowley's smooth, well groomed black mass of feathers, Aziraphale's looked more disheveled. There were a few obvious loose feathers, even after shaking them out, some stuck up at an odd angle, and in general not as nicely presented. Not exactly neglected, but clearly ignored for a very long time. "Turn around and sit on the bed."

The point of this was for Crowley to check for blackened feathers, but now he was more intended to sort out the state of the Angels wings. It was a fact that the few Demons who had kept their wings after their fall, we're very proud of them, and kept them well groomed and looked after. By that same logic, most Angel took their wings for granted and didn't groom them quite as well. Aziraphale on the other hand had kept them locked away for millenia, and it showed.

Once Aziraphale was sitting with his back to him, Crowley got to work. Smoothing out the fluffier covert feathers, patting down the ones that were sticking up at strange angles, needing to pull out a few that had grown in odd directions. It amazed him how Aziraphale, one of the fussiest Angels he'd ever come across, who always had immaculate nails and the finest clothes, even if they were very old and starting to wear, had let something like his wings get into this state.

The Angel in question was quiet, except the little content sings that came with his breath when Crowley run his fingers gently through the feathers, completely relaxing into the feeling. It really was calming, but there was little call for someone else to help you with your wings, most preening was done in private. Wings weren't exactly sensitive, but they were very much a part of them, there was plenty of feeling in them, and they needed to be handled with care. Trusting someone else to help you was unheard of in hell, and not cared enough about in heaven.

Crowley worked carefully, taking his time with each section to make sure they were properly groomed, a small pile of loose or imperfect feathers besides him. He'd only just gotten down the the secondaries on one side when he stopped to run a finger over one feather in particular. "Found one."

Aziraphale wasn't sure what he was talking about at first, too lost in just enjoying the feeling of having his wings so dutifully cared for. It took him a few seconds to remember the purpose of this. "A black feather?"

"Not quite black, more grey. It's already changing." Crowley informed him, letting his thumb pad against the texture. Unlike his own charred feathers, this one was perfect and smooth, the only difference from the rest of the wings beings the darker pigment. "Shouldn't be long before its white again." He assured, not wanting to worry the Angel. Running a hand along the feathers around it to smooth them back into place.

"So, this is completely normal?" Aziraphale rolled his shoulders, making his wings ruffle behind him. It was odd, to realise that a part of you had been changing without your knowledge. He wondered if there were other side effects, but he didn't voice them outloud. What they'd had for thousands of years had worked, and now they were completely free to be whoever they wanted to be without judgment, it didn't seem to matter anymore.

"Yep." Crowley playfully popped the 'p' in the word, emphasising the sound with a clear grin in his voice. "Ever since we've had the arrangement." His hand continued to work its way down Aziraphale's wing, grooming and preening the feathers without bringing attention to any other odd coloured feathers he might find.

"That long?" Aziraphale didn't seem too concerned, which might not be so surprising, since he was already melting into the comforting feeling of surprisingly gentle hands tending to his wings.

Crowley didn't say anything, just gave an affirmative hum while he continued to work. When he was finally finished, he sat back on the bed and admired his handiwork. The brilliantly white feathers lay smooth and soft against each other, not a feather out of place, the few darker feathers were nestled in, almost completely unnoticeable without knowing they were there. He didn't want to use the word 'beautiful' since that's not a word that was befitting of a Demon looking at any part of an Angel, but he thought it. Their wings were unique, dangerous and powerful, something that shouldn't be ignored or taken for granted in the Demon's eyes.

After awhile Aziraphale stood up, stretching his wings out to get a look for himself, before noticing the full length mirror on the other side for the room. He hadn't seen the state of them before Crowley's care, but he had to admit, he'd never seen white Angelic wings so beautifully taken care of. They looked perfect, which wasn't a word he'd usually use to describe any part of himself. "Oh, Crowley tha.."

"Yeah, yeah, 's not a big deal." Crowley waved off the thank you before it even fully left the Angels lips. It wasn't exactly the most demonic thing to do, and he'd never taken to being thanked for anything, but he'd been helping friend. "You must be slacking on the temptations. You only have four grey feathers, and none of them are even black."   


" _ Or _ . Perhaps it is harder to taint goodness with darkness." Aziraphale countered, folding his wings comfortably back against him with a smug smile. "But Darkness can  _ always _ be affected by light."

"Oh,  _ shut up _ ." Crowley could help laughing at that one. Standing up and stretching, both his body and his wings, the Demon looked over the Angel once more. "Cup of tea?"

"That would be lovely, dear."   


Aziraphale  _ would _ remind Crowley that they had a picnic planned today, and that the Demon had slept through it instead of meeting him. But seeing the picnic basket on the kitchen counter should remind him of that. Maybe they would have a picnic in the evening instead?

But for now, he followed Crowley out of the bedroom, grateful for the open plan and lack of clutter, because it made it so much easier to not knock things over with their wings. Aziraphale couldn't help smiling, thinking that the wings were probably the reason Crowley had arranged his house like this in the first place.   


Crowley really was a sentimental thing at heart, no matter how much he protested about it.


End file.
